


So darkness I became

by saltzatore



Series: Howl-Universe [1]
Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: AU, Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:51:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltzatore/pseuds/saltzatore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2.19-2.22 seen through Alaric's eyes. What happened after Klaus released Alaric and gave him back his body? What happened the night Jenna died? How does Ric deal with his life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You left me in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> I should probably call this the "Alaric Saltzman Appreciation Story". Rewatching the episodes from last season I was very annoyed about the lack of reaction from Alaric to almost everything that happened. Jenna dies and all we get is a shocked face, a shake of his head on the funeral and a red rose. Not to mention that he never showed the the smallest reaction to having been possessed by Klaus or... 100 other things that happened back then. So I wrote this. Originally, this was supposed to be the beginning of the Big Bang I'm working on right now (will be posted in May), and it is, but it's also a standalone story, just like the Big Bang can be read on its own. It is an alternate universe setting (though it follows canon pretty closely), and that means I changed a few canon scenes that just didn't make any sense. Keep that in mind, please!
> 
> There is one person who made this story possible, and that person is pleasebekidding. I owe her so much for this, she did the beta, she made sure I wouldn't freak out (for long), she helped me A LOT with the setting and the characters and everything. Without her this would still be just an idea in my head, thank you so much, hun, for getting it out of there. I owe you, I can't make enough paella for everything you've done for me. Thank you!

One moment he isn’t—and then he  _is_ .  
  
Everything comes crashing back like a wave, dragging him under immediately, striking him dizzy.  
  
Alaric’s awake, he’s aware—he’s in  _pain_ .  
  
He’s upright, standing, watching, breathing. Alive.  
  
He’s looking up—and then he’s looking across the room.  
  
A familiar face swims into view, long, dark curls framing a beautiful face, dark eyes, looking haunted—curious—terrified.  
  
“Elena,” he hears his voice say and he sounds surprised. Maybe he is, he can’t tell.  
  
The brown eyes widen—and his body realizes it doesn’t remember how to stay upright. His knees give in and the world tilts to the side. The floor rushes up to meet him, crashing against his head, stunning him further. Reality dims, goes fuzzy around the edges. There are voices somewhere, far, far away, but he doesn’t understand what they’re saying. Doesn’t really care.  
  
The floorboards are cold against Alaric’s skin. His back is hurting, his fingers tingle uncomfortably. There’s blood in his mouth. He’s drifting—and, at the same time, he’s wide awake, shaking with the images-thoughts-sounds assaulting him from  _everywhere_  at once.  
  
Footsteps. Voices. Light chasing shadows, flickering across his senses. The smell of candles. Fire. His skin is burning.  
  
Slowly, very slowly, his body and reality become friends again, synchronize again, so that, when he takes a shuddering breath, he can feel the air rush into his lungs. Wood scrapes against his skin as he moves his head slightly and when he opens his eyes there are black boots, inches from his face. Before his instincts can decide if they want him to flinch back or close his eyes, his head is yanked up—  
  
Eyes. Cold, hard, determined, staring into his soul. Blue irises contract slightly and what little there is of his will crumbles beneath their weight.  
  
“ _You cannot leave this place_ .”  
  
The hand lets go of his hair and he drops to the floor like some old toy that has just been replaced by something new, something shiny. He can’t move, watching the shoes walk away through blurry eyes. A thought dances across his mind, lingers long enough to grasp it.  
  
 _Who are you?_  
  
There is no answer and, for a moment, he almost feels sad about that.  
  
Silence, finally, the presence pressing against Alaric’s senses from the moment he opened his eyes is gone. He can rest now—and he slumps, body crumbling to the floor, his limbs getting so heavy it feels like they sink into the wood beneath him. He blinks slowly, watching his hand twitch where it lies next to his aching head. Something is wrong about the movement, about the hand. It’s not his, not  _his_  hand. Which is wrong, because it is, it  _is_  his hand, there’s the ring and the scar from when he almost cut off his finger slicing vegetables and—and  _still_ ...  
  
It’s wrong.  
  
Alaric is tired. Like he’s been awake for days, without rest, doing things he can’t remember. Like he’s just come home from a long journey and everything feels strange and new and out of place and he has to get used to it again. Like he wants to sleep for a week and his body is trying to pull him down, get him to rest—but he can’t, he can’t, because he’s just woken up and he has no idea what’s going on and if he falls asleep, now, maybe he won’t ever wake up again.  
  
It’s happened before, he remembers now, it’s how he ended up here, on the floor, in his own loft with no idea of how he got here. With strangers roaming his place like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Far, far away, in a very remote part of his head he can hear a voice and it’s screaming at him, begging him to get up, to fight, to do… something, but it gets lost over the rushing in his ears and that thick blanket of exhaustion that’s pushing him under, no matter how much he struggles against it.  
  
And then he stops—stops thinking, stops struggling, stops caring—because his eyes refuse to stay open any longer, because his body suddenly just gives in and he stumbles headfirst into a dark hole, one panicked, desperate thought following him into oblivion.  
  
 _Please let me wake up again._  
  
*  
  
There are sounds, sounds Alaric can’t place brushing insistently against his mind. He tries to ignore them at first, but they refuse to be pushed aside and when he finally gives up fighting against them he’s too awake to fall asleep again.  
  
Someone close to him is talking agitatedly, speaking too fast for him to follow. He gingerly turns his head into the direction of the voice and slowly opens his eyes, blinking. He’s lying on something hard, uncomfortable, something that smells of wood and blood. It’s cold— _he’s_  cold, and his chest hurts.  
  
“I thought you were dead.”  
  
The voice is familiar, but the tone is all wrong, more like a bored sneer than the friendly greeting he would expect from it. Blinking his eyes a few times to clear his sight, Alaric is finally able to make out more than a few blurry shapes.  
  
Elena is sitting— _lounging_  on a couch nearby, feet drawn up beneath her, holding a remote control pointed at a TV, flipping through the channels. After a moment Alaric realizes that the voices he heard earlier came from the TV. And that it’s  _his_  TV and  _his_  couch and also  _his_  room she’s sitting in. Which means he’s lying on his floor… and no part of this makes any kind of sense.  
  
“What are you doing here?” His voice is raw and low and it takes real effort to get the words out.  
  
Elena flips her long curls to the side and narrows her eyes a little, studying him intently. Her body language is all wrong, she’s too… aware of herself, moving slowly, almost seductively—not at all like the teenager she is. He’s missing something, something important, but his reality is too fuzzy to put his finger on it.  
  
Elena doesn’t answer. Instead, she gets off the couch and walks over to him—and his breath catches in his throat when she suddenly drops to all fours to the floor and starts  _crawling_  toward him, moving like a feline predator who’s stalking her prey.  
  
 _Him_ .  
  
It’s not Elena.  
  
“Katherine,” he breathes, and her face lights up with a smile. A false smile; her eyes stay as sharp and calculating as a big cat’s, seconds before the kill.  
  
“Took you long enough.”  
  
 _Run_ , the tiny voice starts screaming somewhere in his head,  _run, get away from her, get your ass up, get moving,_ now—but he can’t, he  _can’t_  move and his heart starts racing because she’s going to snap him up like a between-meal snack. Pick him up, drain him dry and leave him behind like a blood bag—  
  
But then she stops advancing. Wrinkles her nose, curls her lips into a sneer. “Take a shower. You stink.”  
  
And, just like that, she’s back on the couch, leaning back against the cushions as if she’d been there in front of him. Too fast for his dizzy brain, he stares at the empty space, tries to get his thoughts together, to finally make sense of what he’s seeing.  
  
 _What am I doing here? What happened? Where is everybody? Who is the guy with the eyes_ —all those questions lay on the tip of Alaric’s tongue, but what comes out eventually is, “What happened to my place?”  
  
Because it’s a mess, the covers on his bed rumpled, pushed to the side, candles on the floor next to him, some tipped over, empty bottles everywhere, strange suitcases blocking the way to the kitchen, the counter a mess of papers, pizza boxes and empty plates—  
  
A mess.  
  
Katherine— _not_  Elena—flips her head back, laughing.  
  
“You’re cute,” she says. “I see why Isobel insisted you were off limits.”  
  
 _Isobel._  
  
A stake through the heart would have been kinder.  
  
Alaric’s world—what little has been begun to make sense again—crashes to a complete, shuddering stop. Almost immediately, she’s there, her voice, her face, her smile…  _I loved you so much_ … Isobel standing next to a car, looking up at him, smiling, but her eyes sad, haunted.  _I don’t want to do what I have to do without you knowing how much I loved you… and I did…_  It feels like he’s drowning, going under, buried beneath a mountain of feelings that threatens to crush him. Emotions he has long believed he’d dealt with return to the surface, mocking him, calling out to him,  _anger, pain, denial, longing—desire—_  
  
“Isobel,” he mutters hoarsely, head reeling.  
  
Katherine is watching him, a frown furrowing her brow. “Did he damage anything in your head? You seem awfully slow.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Klaus. When he borrowed your sexy body, did he damage something? Your brain, perhaps?”  
  
“Borrowed my—what are you talking about?”  
  
Katherine gives an exaggerated sigh and folds her arms in front of her chest, staring down at him. “He really did a number on you.” She shakes her head, sighs again. “Let’s just say you haven’t been yourself for the past days. Klaus took your body for a joyride.”  
  
He doesn’t remember any of that. There’s Isobel talking, telling him she loved him— _he’s all yours_ —and his head explodes with pain—voices—a metallic taste in his throat—  
  
And then he’s looking at Ele— _Katherine_ and his world tilts to the side…  
  
He’s lost.  
  
“Take a shower,” Katherine says again.  
  
She’s right, he should, he should do— _something_ . And he really, really wants a shower. Some privacy. A moment to himself.  
  
It takes time, a lot longer than it should. Sitting up—and then staying on his feet has never been so difficult. It takes all of Alaric’s concentration; once he’s moving he has to hang onto every available piece of furniture along the way to the bathroom. Katherine is watching him, eyebrows raised, following his stumbling progress with an amused grin.  
  
“I could help you in there,” she purrs, once he’s reached the door. “Want me to wash your back?”  
  
When the door clicks shut behind him, finally shielding him from the big question mark that has become his reality, Alaric sinks against the wall next to it, suddenly unable to stay on his feet any longer. He’s shaking, partly from exhaustion, partly from stress.  
  
Partly from something he can’t even begin to identify.  
  
Alaric’s skin is tingling, like there are thousands of ants crawling over him. He thinks about what Katherine told him, that Klaus… possessed him, that he used him—his body. Tries to imagine what he—Klaus could have done. Did he—Klaus hurt anyone while wearing his face? Did someone die, thinking Alaric killed them, was  _his_  face the last thing someone saw before  _his_  hands murdered them?  
  
Alaric barely makes it to the toilet in time, going to his knees in front of it. He starts dry-heaving, fingers clenching on the cold porcelain as his stomach rebels—but nothing comes up. He gets to his feet and stumbles over to the mirror, steeling himself for whatever he might find looking back at him.  
  
Actually, he looks… pretty normal. A little sick— _pale_  (not vampire-pale) with dark rings under his eyes. A lot confused and wary (like someone has just told him he’s been possessed recently). He doesn’t have fangs (he checks) and there are no dark veins spider-webbing across his skin—he’s definitely not a vampire.  
  
Which… is a great relief, but doesn’t really help him.  
  
The desire to take a shower becomes unbearable.  
  
Alaric shrugs out of his clothes, thinks distractedly that he hasn’t seen this shirt in ages—and tries not to freak out at the realization that he hasn’t dressed himself. The hot water almost burns his skin off, but he welcomes that sensation, revels in the fact that he can finally feel something other than the numbing confusion and  _fear_  that have plagued him ever since he has opened his eyes. When he reaches for the soap he finds his ring missing—and panics for a moment, until he remembers the fight with John Gilbert. How he had taken off the ring and given it back so that the dick would leave Jenna alone. He knows where the ring is, but its absence leaves him feeling even more vulnerable than before.  
  
Alaric draws the shower out until he feels at least a little more comfortable, like his body might be long to himself again, until some sense of self returns and he remembers his own name again. He hasn’t taken new clothes with him into the shower and has to go out half-naked, with only a towel wrapped around his waist.  
  
Katherine is standing at the open fridge, reaching for a blood bag when he comes out. She looks at him over her shoulder—and her grin instantly becomes flirty, calculating. False. “Yummy,” she purrs and puts the blood bag back into the fridge without looking, smacking it close with a determined swing of her hips. “Don’t you look biteable right now.”  
  
Alaric ignores her, focuses on his wardrobe, pulls out a random shirt, jeans—and almost stumbles headfirst into the rack when a female body presses against his back. Katherine leans into him, cool hands skimming across his chest as she whispers against his skin, “You smell nice now,” and licks across his shoulder, just the barest hint of sharp fangs—  
  
He whirls around, pushes her off, unable to hold back the strange sound that is building in his throat, a noise that sounds vicious, even— _especially_  to his own ears. And takes himself—both of them—completely by surprise.  
  
“Get  _away_  from me!”  
  
Katherine stares at him from where she has fallen next to the foot of the bed, but her shock only lasts for a second; she moves so fast Alaric barely sees her, crashing him against the open door of the wardrobe with such force he can’t hold back a yelp of pain.  
  
“You like it rough, huh?” she breathes against his lips, her eyes, furious, staring into his, a challenge—and a warning. “You should have told me earlier, we could have had so much  _fun_  already…” She leans into him, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth, while one of her hand wanders down his chest, to the towel that has somehow not fallen to the floor…  
  
Alaric catches her wrist before she can pull it away, struggling to get away from her, but she is so strong, easily keeping him pinned against the wood. “Why so shy, Ric,” she whispers against his throat and her breath, so close to his neck, freezes him, makes it impossible for him to move. “I haven’t had anything worthwhile to eat in a very long time…”  
  
There is a soft sound, barely audible over the panicked rushing in his ears, like some crackling and a  _hiss_  and her eyes darken and he doesn’t know how, but the next moment their positions are reversed, he is pinning her against the door, one hand at her throat, eyes fixed on her fangs.  
  
“Stay  _the fuck_  away from me,” he snarls, surprised when his voice comes out sounding as pissed as he actually feels, even though he’s shaking so hard on the inside he can barely keep on his feet.  
  
Katherine’s eyes flare dangerously and Alaric briefly imagines himself lying on his bed, his throat torn and bloody, eyes open, staring sightlessly ahead, but suddenly there’s a noise at the door and a voice, impatient and angry.  
  
“What’s going on here?”  
  
The change in Katherine’s body is instant, her face snaps back to normal and her eyes go wide—and then she steps behind Alaric, takes  _cover_  behind him. Alaric turns to look at the owner of the voice…  
  
And finds a stranger standing in his apartment.  
  
The man is wearing dark clothes and an arrogant smirk. Alaric has never seen him before; the face isn’t familiar, the amused glint in his eyes doesn’t ring a bell. The stranger is standing there in the open door like he owns the place, like he lives here, has every right to be here. Alaric is pretty sure he doesn’t, is positive he would remember that face—that arrogance…  
  
And yet, it feels like something he has been missing has just clicked into place. That man is  _family_ , is close to him, feels like his best friend and a brother all rolled into one, like they’ve known each other for years and spent their whole lives together. He even knows his name without having to think about it.  
  
And that? Fucking terrifies him.  
  
“I leave you alone for a few hours and you’re already all over each other?” The man— _Klaus_ —starts walking toward the counter in the kitchen, watching them, amused. “I thought you preferred your women alive and breathing,  _Ric_ …”  
  
He says it like it’s a private joke between them, like they’ve been out together for years, sharing drinks and stories of lost loves. Drinking buddies, best friends—  
  
It’s wrong, it has never happened, it’s a trick, some after-effect of whatever magic had been put on him. He knows it, he  _feels_  it, every inch of his body is screaming at him to move, to do something to end this farce.  
  
Alaric considers himself a brave man, he’s hunted and killed vampires before, he never backs down from them—or anyone, but  _especially_  not a bloodsucker. He has stood up to an Original before and ended up daggering him, pulling him out of the game, however briefly. He’s too brave, at times, maybe even stupid, got himself killed once because he didn’t know when to quit. He’s no stranger to fear, but he’s never hesitated; never thought twice about doing what needed to be done.  
  
Right now? He’s scared. Intimidated. Couldn’t move an inch to save his life. There’s something about this man, about how he holds himself, how he looks at Alaric, keeping him pinned to where he is standing with only a  _look_ —he has no idea why, but whatever this is, it demands… respect.  
  
Alaric does something he’s never done before, he takes a step back and keeps quiet, does not demand to be told what’s happening, even though he’s dying to find out. It seems like the right thing to do, the only sensible thing to do. He doesn’t know if Klaus is aware of his inner conflict, but the moment Alaric backs away, Klaus’s smile deepens and he leans against the counter.  
  
“Katerina.”  
  
Katherine shifts, appears next to him, her body poised to flight. She doesn’t speak, only looks at Klaus, her face closed off and controlled, but Alaric sees that she’s trembling ever so slightly.  
  
If Klaus notices, he doesn’t show it. “Why don’t you step aside and let Alaric and I have a conversation between…  _friends_ .”  
  
 _We are not friends_ , Alaric wants to say, but he just can’t open his mouth, and before he can so much as take a breath there’s movement next to him and Katherine is just gone—  
  
—and the next moment he’s crowded against the wardrobe, again, this time by Klaus, who’s staring at him intensely, until everything he sees are blue eyes. The last thing he is aware of is a voice, speaking close to his ear and inside his mind at the same time.  
  
“I have a message for you to deliver.”  
  
*  
  
Alaric arrives at the boarding house with no recollection of how he actually got there.  
  
For just a moment he feels out of place—again— as if Klaus took over his body—again—and set him free once he reached the main door. He slows to a stop, shakes his head, looks behind him to see a familiar street leading up to the vampire haven—and figures he must have walked here. From his own apartment. Which is quite a long walk. His feet hurt and he’s tired, or, more like _exhausted_ …  
  
He has a message to deliver.  
  
Alaric walks up the driveway, letting his tired gaze wander across the different cars, then focuses on the front door.  
  
He has a message to deliver.  
  
He doesn’t knock, doesn’t ring the doorbell, he simply opens the door and steps inside.  
  
There’s movement, a shadow somewhere in front of him, the sound of shoes—high heels—and just a second later he’s staring down the business end of a crossbow aimed at his heart, complete with Jenna glaring at him over it, looking mad enough to shoot him right where he stands.  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
He’s never heard her speak with so much venom in her voice and immediately he raises his hands, trying to calm her down.  
  
“Jenna, wait—“  
  
Jenna raises the crossbow a little to point it at his head, her voice cold and determined.  
  
“Stay where you are.”  
  
He can’t help it, he takes a step back and looks at her, confused, shocked, actually, that she would point a weapon at him.  
  
And then he gets it, she isn’t seeing him but someone else.  
  
 _Klaus._  
  
He swallows thickly, doesn’t really know what to do for a moment.  
  
“Jenna, it’s me, okay? It’s me—“  
  
Suddenly there are people, Elena, Stefan, Damon, rushing up the hallway, staring at him, expressions dark, hostile. Angry.  
  
Alaric takes another step back. “It’s me,” he says again, hoping they will at least let him finish. “It’s me, Klaus let me go, okay? He let me  _go_ …”  
  
"Prove it, “ Damon says.  
  
Alaric can’t take his eyes off Jenna, off her furious frown, the way she stares at him, all angry, ready to  _kill_  him. He wracks his brain, tries to come up with something, something she would know, only she could remember—and grabs the first thing that comes to his mind.  
  
“The first night you and I were together, Jeremy walked in on us—“  
  
“It’s him!” She cuts him off before he can finish his sentence. “It’s him.”  
  
Jenna lowers the crossbow—doesn’t put it away—and he turns, but no matter who he looks at, he still feels like one wrong move could set any of them off.  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
It’s like a flip in his head has been switched, as soon as he hears Elena’s voice he turns to look at her, can’t take his eyes off her. Dimly he thinks that she doesn’t look like Katherine at all, wonders for a moment how he could have confused them. “Klaus set me free to deliver a message; he wants me to tell you that the ritual will take place tonight.”  
  
Elena’s eyes widen in shock and someone close to him makes a hissing sound, but he can’t tell who. Then she turns and walks away from him—and he feels like some spell has been broken, like a curtain has been lifted and his senses are no longer dulled. He blinks, confused, hasn’t realized before that something was different.  
  
Alaric turns back to look at Jenna—and is shocked to find her face closed off, the crossbow still half-raised. As if she’s still thinking about using it.  
  
And then she turns, walks away without a word, just like Elena. And Stefan. Until he is left with Damon standing somewhere to his left and Elijah at the other end of the hallway. Looking at him, _staring_  at him, with the same curious expression he’s always wearing—and something more, something that makes the hair at the back of his neck stand up.  
  
Elijah shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be ‘alive’ and kicking, the last time he’d seen the Original they’d carried his daggered body into the dungeon. After Alaric had driven the dagger that would have killed Damon had he had thrust it into the older vampire’s heart. It had seemed like the only reasonable thing to do, back then, but, right now—Alaric suddenly wishes he was somewhere else. He is about to look to his left where Damon is hovering just outside his line of sight, when Elijah takes a slow, measured step toward him.  
  
“If you don’t have any objections, I would like to have a look at you, Alaric.”  
  
To be fair, it doesn’t exactly sound as if he is going to snap his neck, but Alaric takes a step back, hands clenching nervously at his side.  
  
“Why?” He hates how his voice wavers, just a bit, hates how scared he feels with the Original’s attention focused on him this intently.  
  
There is a blur of movement—and Elijah is standing right in front of him, staring into his eyes, fixing him with that look alone. A look that is becoming all too familiar by now. “I want to make sure my brother didn’t plant any suggestions in your head to… wreak a little havoc amongst your friends. Surely you agree to this precaution?”  
  
 _Nonono, no more vampires in my head_ — He winces at that thought, feels his heart skip a beat, acutely aware of Elijah being able to sense— _hear_  his fear. Behind the Original, Damon steps out into the hallway, staring at Alaric with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. Alaric has no choice, if he wants to stay there—and he does, he doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to be alone— he has to agree to this, to having yet another person mess around with his mind. He takes a deep breath and nods.  
  
“Okay, do it—“  
  
He has barely got the words out, when Elijah’s pupils contract. “Relax…”  
  
Alaric sinks against the door behind him—and reality blurs, becomes muted. He hears Elijah’s voice, talking to him—he  _knows_  the vampire is talking to him—and yet he can’t understand a word he’s saying, Elijah sounds as if he is speaking underwater. What’s even worse is that he feels himself answer, feels his lips move, form words he doesn’t hear, can’t make out.  
  
It doesn’t last long, thankfully, reality suddenly snaps back, sharp as ever, and Elijah takes a step back.  
“It appears you are clean.”  
  
He wants to feel relieved—but he can’t, all that gets out is a nervous grin. “That’s good, right? That he didn’t put anything in there?”  
  
Elijah and Damon share a weird look, then Elijah nods and turns, starts walking toward the living-room. Damon is still looking at him, tense, something is bothering him, but before Alaric can say anything, Damon steps closer.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
He’s staring at him, with that intense look that he has. Alaric almost flinches back, doesn’t want to be looked at like that again, has enough of it—But it’s Damon, it’s how he always looks, he’s not about to compel him, to make him do things against his will. Alaric forces himself to relax a little. Lie. Buy himself a few moments to think.  
  
“I’m fine… Damon, what happened?”  
  
Damon looks at him a moment longer, then shrugs, points at the living-room where everybody has disappeared to.  
  
“Ask them, they’re the decision makers around here.”  
  
Alaric doesn’t need to be as familiar with Damon as he is to realize that there have been difficulties between him and the rest of the group. Damon is tense, angling toward pissed and broody—and that’s never a good combination, for any vampire. On any other day he’d invite him to share a drink at the Grill or the bar in the living-room—and god, does he want a drink right now, something to chase away the blood and the pain and the memories—but he can’t. Whatever has happened here… whatever Klaus—he has done… he has to find out.  
  
"Damon, " he says softly, searching the tense face. "Did I hurt someone?"  
  
Damon looks at him, face as unreadable as ever— and shrugs. "Talk to them," he says, and turns, getting up the stairs without saying another thing.  
  
"Damon, please."  
  
 _I just need one friendly face right now._  
  
Damon ignores him. He’s up the stairs and gone before Alaric can figure out what to say.  
  
Alaric leans back against the door, closing his eyes. He’s tired, he’s so fucking exhausted he can barely concentrate enough to follow one single thought. But he has to, his life won’t let him take a break and so he takes a deep breath, lifts his head and approaches the living-room.  
  
And he pretends not to notice that it feels like walking down the death row, heading for his own execution.  
  
*  
  
Somehow, while his body was being worn like a cheap suit at a carnival parade, the jury apparently found him guilty of committing a crime they are reluctant to tell him about.  
  
There is no other word to describe it: he feels  _guilty_ . Of whatever it is that Klaus did while he was him—and everybody seems to agree. The atmosphere in the room is frozen; he is sitting on one of the couches, facing the rest of the group. Wherever he looks he meets wary expressions, distrust, anger— _hurt_  glaring back at him. He’s never felt so on display before and he can’t remember a single time in his entire life in which he had literally felt this uncomfortable in his own skin.  
  
The first thing he gathers from their summary of ‘What Klaus did looking like one of us’ is the fact that they had thought him dead, that there had been no attempted rescue missions and nobody had been hurt while trying to get him back. And while he is pretty okay with the general outcome of this, he is a little—no, actually he’s a  _lot_ surprised ( _hurt_ ) by the fact that no one seemed to have realized it wasn’t him until he—Klaus—had attempted to kill Bonnie—and succeeded.  
  
“What?”  
  
Alaric doesn’t realize he’s jumped off the couch until he hears Elena’s shocked gasp, sees Jenna flinch back—and the room is tilting a little to the side.  
  
“Bonnie’s  _dead_ ?”  
  
“Alaric, calm down, she—“ Stefan stops and turns, looks first at Elena, then at Elijah, like he’s asking them if they should trust him.  
  
Maybe they nod, maybe they don’t, it’s hard to tell—and Alaric is too shaken to pay attention to it.  
  
“Bonnie isn’t dead,” Stefan says at last. “She put a spell on herself to resurrect herself, so that Klaus would believe she’s out of the picture.”  
  
“Resurrect herself…” He sinks down on the couch, shaking his head. This can’t be happening…  
  
It goes on after that.  
  
Stefan asks him if he remembers anything—and he shakes his head no, he doesn’t, couldn’t even say how Klaus got his hands on him in the first place. He watches them exchange pointed looks and realizes he’s become their weak spot now that he’s been compelled and used like this. He can’t really blame them—but he also can’t deny that it hurts a lot, more than he thinks it should. He’s never thought of himself as weak—or the weak spot of their little ensemble and to have this happen to him… it makes him wonder.  
  
And then there’s Jenna.  
  
Jenna glares at him when she thinks he’s not looking, throwing him glances he can’t figure out. Alaric can’t help but flinch inwardly every time their eyes meet; he knows something must have happened, something a lot more than him keeping secrets from her. She’s sitting across of him, on the other couch, arms folded over her chest, studying him. Watching his every move. As if she’s waiting for him to snap suddenly, jump up and admit that he’s still Klaus and wants to kill them. He doesn’t know how to convince her—or any of them that it’s him, that he’s back and not intending on letting something like that ever happen again.  
  
At some point Elena excuses herself and goes looking for Damon. Stefan is about to tell him what their plans are for the ritual when there’s suddenly some sort of commotion upstairs and Stefan is gone. There’s a crash and the sounds of fighting—shouting—and Alaric is in Damon’s room before he even realizes he’s run upstairs.  
  
Stefan’s on the floor, the wooden leg of a chair stuck in his stomach. Damon is crouching a few feet away, snarling like some rabid dog and lashing out at Alaric when he steps in and tries to pull his friend back. Elena is shouting angrily at Damon, glaring at him in accusation, a trickle of blood running down her lips. For a moment Alaric is afraid that she got hurt in whatever fight has happened, but she waves him off when he tries to help her and is at Stefan’s side immediately.  
  
He never sees Damon leave the room, he’s just gone. Alaric sends Jenna to get some blood bags from the fridge downstairs while he and Elena help Stefan to sit down on the bed. Stefan is out of breath, too incapacitated by the pain to tell them what happened, but Elena steps in.  
  
“Damon forced me to drink his blood,” she whispers, clearly in shock—and Alaric is lost for a moment, doesn’t really know what that means.  
  
“Why would he do that?”  
  
“The ritual,” Stefan gasps, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “She will come back as a vampire after the ritual now…”  
  
Jenna returns with the blood bag and Stefan accepts it gratefully, visibly relaxing when the wound starts healing the moment he takes the first sip. He waits a moment for it to close completely, then looks up, attempting to smile at him and Jenna.  
  
“Thank you,” he says, “both of you.”  
  
Just like that, Alaric feels a little better, like he has taken a small step back to becoming who he was before the nightmare started. He starts when Jenna takes his arm and pulls him out of the room, leaving Stefan and Elena to themselves. Somewhere down the stairs, in the living-room, he can hear Elijah and Damon talking, voices muted, but intense as always.  
  
Jenna steps closer, hooking her arm through his. They are silent for a moment, walking side by side, until he feels the need to say something.  
  
“I wanted to protect you from all of this,” Alaric admits softly, bracing himself for a possible outbreak, isn’t sure what is safe to say to her right now and what not. “I should have known you can handle it just fine…”  
  
Jenna moves and he tenses, then relaxes when she leans into him, looking up at him with a questioning look in her eyes. “Can I?”  
  
He resists the urge to draw her closer, to hug her close and never let her go— that might be a bit much right now— but he smiles at her, attempts a grin.  
  
"You just did.” He’s silent for a moment. “Look, Jenna, I know we have a lot to talk about—“  
  
Whatever he wanted to say after that gets stuck in his throat when she smiles at him. A real smile, a smile that reaches her eyes and warms his heart.  
  
"I'm happy I got you back... that you weren't hurt," she says suddenly— and she'll never know how much he needs to hear that, how much her words soothe some raw part of him that stops hurting for a moment. This time he doesn’t resist the urge and pulls her closer, burying his nose in her hair. "I should have told you that a lot sooner," she whispers into his shoulder and he closes his eyes, breathes her in, feeling himself relax a little.  
  
Alaric leans down to kiss her, and the moment their lips meet, he feels a small slice of his life slide back into place again. This… is right. Jenna leans into him and he hold s her close, enjoys how warm she feels in his arms, how he she fits perfectly against his body and, for a moment, he forgets everything around him.  
  
But, again, his life doesn’t particularly like him at the moment. He is so lost in Jenna’s presence, he only realizes what’s happening—that there  _is_  something happening, when the front door slams shut and Jenna jumps slightly in his arms.  
  
“What was that?” he mumbles into her hair and Jenna looks up at him.  
  
“It sounded a lot like your vampire-friend has decided to take his frustration elsewhere.”  
  
Alaric frowns— and Jenna sighs. "Maybe you should go after him, Damon’s been an ass the whole day, Stefan’s worried he might do something stupid."  
  
"He just did," Alaric says softly, and nods at Damon’s room.  
  
Jenna grins slightly, but it doesn’t hold much humor. "Something even more stupid then."  
  
He doesn't want to leave, not now, not when he's finally found something quiet that feels just right, but Jenna has a point, with Damon in this mood, there is a great possibility that he might screw everything up. Or get them into more trouble than they are already in. If that’s even possible.  
  
He really needs to catch up with the current happenings and plans...  
  
Outside, Damon's car roars to life and Alaric squeezes Jenna softly, then turns, heading down the stairs until he stops in the middle.  
  
"I walked here, can I borrow your car?”  
  
"You walked here?" Jenna looks incredulous, but starts looking for her keys, throwing them over.  
  
Alaric shrugs, puts on a tired grin. "Must not have been in my right mind.”  
  
They both wince at his lame attempt at humor and he jogs down the stairs before he can make everything even worse.  
  
“I’ll make sure the town stays safe,” he calls over his shoulder, hoping that Stefan picks it up as well, and rushes over to Jenna’s car.  
  
*  
  
He loses Damon's car in the traffic, but has an idea where he might be headed. And, sure enough, Damon's already at the Grill when Alaric gets there. The vampire is glaring into a glass of bourbon, seemingly unaware of what’s happening around him. Alaric knows that isn’t the case, though, and slides onto the chair next to him, gesturing at the barkeeper to pour him a glass as well.  
  
And then he has a good look at his friend’s profile, trying to gauge his mood. Damon is tense— _pissed_ —but the worst seems to be over, he’s currently at the point where he’s realized (and admitted to himself) that he’s screwed up.  
  
As if he can read Alaric’s mind, Damon’s first words, a moment later, are, “I screwed up.”  
  
Alaric nods. “Yeah, you did,” he agrees softly. No need to lie about it.  
  
“Gentlemen, why so glum?”  
  
It takes him a moment to realize someone is talking to them—and then he freezes when the calm voice registers. For just a moment, just a second he doesn’t want to turn around, wants to pretend he didn’t hear it, wants— _needs_  it to be just a figment of his imagination—like the remains of a bad dream—but it isn’t. He can feel it, senses the too familiar presence creeping down his back, causing him to shudder.  
  
 _Klaus._  
  
Next to Alaric, Damon tenses and turns around, eyes on the newcomer.  
  
“Klaus, I presume,” he says. He doesn’t sound very impressed.  
  
Alaric, on the other hand, has to fight down a sudden, irrational impulse to just  _run_  and get out of there. He ignores it as best he can and turns around stiffly, uncharacteristically glad that Damon is standing between him and the Original.  
  
“In the flesh,” Klaus says and looks past Damon to lock eyes with Alaric for a moment. “Thanks for the loaner, mate.”  
  
Anger bubbles up in Alaric’s throat at those careless words, he’d love to give the arrogant vampire a piece of his mind about what he has done to him, how he used him—but, again, he backs down, keeps quiet, nods slightly and doesn’t say a word. He’s seriously starting to hate himself for this… but for some reason he just can’t get himself to react differently.  
  
And then Damon and Klaus are talking, the atmosphere around them tense and dangerous. Damon is all snarky comments and self-confident behavior as usual, while Klaus seems to be more amused about the whole situation, arrogant smile playing at the corners of his lips. They could be circling each other in a boxing ring for all the big show they are putting on. It would almost be amusing if it wasn’t such an unequal match.  
  
And Damon, being Damon, does his best to make the situation worse by suggesting that maybe Klaus should postpone his ritual for a month.  
  
Klaus immediately loses his false smile and his attention shifts to Alaric.  
  
“He’s kidding, right?” There’s a warning in his tone and it takes Alaric a moment to find his voice.  
  
“No, not really…”  
  
Before him, Damon shifts, shoulders tense. He makes the effort of trying to keep his voice deliberately charming, but, as usual, it comes out snarky. “I mean, come on, what’s one month in the grand scheme of things…”  
  
Klaus, of course, is not buying it, at all. His eyes narrow and his voice drops down to a threatening half-growl. “Let me be clear: I have my vampire, I have my werewolf… I have everything I need. The ritual will happen tonight. So, if you want to live to see tomorrow… don’t screw it up.”  
  
And then he’s gone. Alaric blinks and watches Damon take a deep breath, sees some of the tension in his friend’s shoulders disappear and wishes he could calm down as well.  
  
“That was fun,” Damon sighs tiredly, and Alaric reads him like an open book.  
  
“You’re gonna screw it up, aren’t you?”  
  
Damon turns to look at him, expression thoughtful. “You think if I took his werewolf out of the equation, she might… get over the fact that I tried to turn her into a vampire?”  
  
So he  _is_  going to screw it up. “I think it won’t matter because you’ll be dead.”  
  
“But without the werewolf he can’t perform the ritual tonight, which means I would have bought her one month before the next full moon.”  
  
That might be true, but Damon’s missing one crucial argument  _against_  his plan. “But you’ll still be dead,” Alaric points out.  
  
Damon frowns, like he doesn’t get the point. “Are you gonna help me or what?”  
  
 _No, I don’t wanna help you get yourself killed._ Is what he should say.  
  
“What do you want me to do?” Is what comes out instead.  
  
Damon grins at him, leans closer, lowers his voice conspiratorially. “What you should have done a long time ago, my friend.” He wiggles his eyebrows, grins.  
  
Alaric doesn’t get it, blames it on his tired brain. “What?”  
  
Damon smirks, gets up and heads for the door. “Invite me in,” he says over his shoulder.  
  
Alaric spends a moment staring after him, still not getting it—then sighs.  
  
“Right, invite him in, like that’s gonna solve anything,” he mutters to no one in particular, before he gets off his chair and follows his friend out of the Grill.  
  
They are halfway across the town, Alaric following Damon’s Camaro in Jenna’s car, when it finally dawns on him just where exactly they are headed.  
  
His apartment. Hellmouth. The axis of evil. The place he doesn’t want to go back to, at least not this soon. It takes a lot of deep breaths to not turn around and drive back to the boarding house. Alaric’s thoughts are racing. They don’t know who is going to be in there. If Klaus went back, if Katherine is still there, if there’s someone—something waiting for them…  
  
He doesn’t like it. Hates it. Would go the other way if he could. He can’t, because it’s about Elena. And Damon has a plan. And, despite his track record, sometimes his plans do work. And Alaric has no idea how exactly this ritual is going to go down, doesn’t know enough to not trust Damon and ignore his idea.  
  
When they arrive at the building, he sits in the car for a long moment, staring up at his front window, fighting to get his racing heartbeat under control.  
  
This is a stupid idea.  
  
A sudden knock on the door actually makes him jump and he whips around to find Damon standing next to the car.  
  
“You coming?”  
  
They don’t talk on the way up, but Alaric stops on the second floor, holding Damon back for a moment.  
“What if they’re upstairs?”  
  
Damon cocks his head to the side, concentrates for a second, then shakes his head. “It’s just Katherine.” He starts walking again, looking back when Alaric doesn’t follow right away. “Come on, Ric, no one wants to stay in your boring apartment longer than they have to.”  
  
Alaric huffs. “You’ve never even been to my place,” he says, and goes past Damon, climbing the last stairs to his loft.  
  
Behind him, Damon snickers. “I don’t have to, I  _know_  you.”  
  
Glad for their banter to lighten up the mood, Alaric fumbles for his keys and unlocks the door.  
  
And finds himself staring at Katherine. She looks worried for a moment, but just a blink later her mask slides back into place.  
  
“Look who’s dumb enough to come back”, she sneers and Alaric can’t hold back a mischievous grin as he leans against the door frame, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  
  
“Well, somebody had to invite him in.” He turns to look over his shoulder. “Damon? Would you like to come in?”  
  
Damon smirks at him as he enters the apartment—and Katherine rushes at him the moment he is inside, eyes furious.  
  
“Are you trying to get me killed?”  
  
One quick move—and Damon has her up against the wall, holding her pinned against it, glaring back at her. “I gave you vervain,” he snarls, “now I’m here to collect.” He doesn’t take his eyes off her. “I got it from here, Ric.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“Yeah, only one of us needs to get blamed for this. Get back in the house, keep Elena from handing herself over.”  
  
Maybe he should feel a little ashamed with how okay he is with this plan—but he doesn’t really care anymore. “Okay.”  
  
It’s only when he’s inside the car, driving a little too fast and heading for the town exit that he can relax and finally take a deep breath again.  
  
When Alaric arrives at the boarding house it’s dark and empty. He checks his phone to be sure he hasn’t missed any calls or messages (he hasn’t) and then decides to have a drink inside and wait for the others to get back. He pours himself a glass of bourbon and sinks down on the couch, enjoying the familiar burning against his tongue. It’s the first time since he’s got his body back that he has a moment to himself, with no one to watch him, no one to manipulate him, no one to look after. And he realizes,  _not_ for the first time, that he’s exhausted, that he can barely keep his eyes open. Resting his aching forehead against the glass, he closes his burning eyes for a moment, trying to get his jumbled thoughts under control, to figure out what to do next—


	2. No dawn, no day

The worst night of his life starts with a bang.  
  
Alaric is caught in some dreamless half-doze when a door is slammed shut, pulling him out of the darkness of his mind. Footsteps hurry closer, then slow down. Not entirely sure what is happening, Alaric straightens—and something crashes to the floor, smashing into a million pieces. He winces, sits up, looks around.  
  
He’s not at home.  
  
Alaric blinks. Utterly lost, it takes him a moment to recognize the living-room of the boarding house. And Stefan standing in the open door, looking over at him with a frown.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
Alaric rubs his burning eyes, tries to clear the sleep from his brain, tries to find back to reality.  
  
“’m okay,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. As he shifts on the couch to get up, there is a crunching sound beneath his shoes and he looks down to find a broken glass—and bourbon spilled on the floor. He must have knocked it off the couch.  
  
“Sorry ‘bout that.” He gets to his feet, takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders. “Where is everybody?”  
  
Stefan is watching him, looking deep in thought… and worried. Since this is more or less his usual expression, Alaric has no idea what to make of it.  
  
“Klaus took Elena,” Stefan says suddenly—and, just like that, Alaric is wide awake, stomach clenching in worry, a sudden burst of adrenaline chasing the last remains of sleep away.  
  
“What?” He’s lost for a moment, doesn’t really know what exactly that means, wishes, not for the first time, he knew more about their plan than he does. “What are we going to do now?”  
  
Stefan cocks his head to the side, looks like he is listening to something, frowns. “Where’s Damon?”  
  
“Last time I saw him he was at my apartment, talking to Katherine, he said he had a plan…”  
  
Stefan tenses, curses under his breath and yanks his phone out of his pocket.  
  
Alaric takes a step toward him. “When I got here the place was empty, where is everyone?”  
  
Stefan ignores him, a moment later he growls into the phone. “Where are you?”  
  
There is a moment of silence, then Stefan runs a hand through his hair, jaw clenching. “Klaus took Elena, Damon, she’s gone.”  
  
“ _What?_ ” Damon’s outcry is loud enough for Alaric to hear it over the phone. Stefan listens for another moment, then hangs up, looks around, clearly fighting for his composure.  
  
Alaric has had enough. “What the hell is going on here?”  
  
“We’ll meet Damon and Bonnie at the Bennet house, we’re sticking with the original plan.” Stefan turns to leave, but Alaric holds him back.  
  
“Hold on, what plan?”  
  
Stefan looks surprised. “Damon didn’t tell you?”  
  
Alaric fights not to roll his eyes in annoyance. “No one’s told me anything, I know you’ve got something planned to save Elena and that’s going to piss Klaus off and Damon—“ Something suddenly clicks into place, something he’s heard earlier this day, something that should have rung a bell then but never quite registered in his brain. “Wait, Damon gave Elena his blood so she would come back as a vampire? Are you insane? You’re going to let Elena _kill herself_?”  
  
Stefan winces and his whole body goes rigid, his eyes flaring, not unlike Katherine’s. “I’m not _letting_ her do anything—it was her decision, she—dammit, Alaric, she’s—“ He breaks off, takes a deep breath… and a step back, away from Alaric. “It’s her decision,” he forces out through clenched teeth.  
  
 _Shit._  
  
Alaric forces himself to take a deep breath as well, to calm his racing thoughts, to not give in to the panic that’s making his head swim. He crosses his arms in front of his chest to hide how badly his hands are shaking, but can’t hold still, runs them over his face a moment later. “What’s the plan?”  
  
Stefan is in no mood to chat and nods at the door. “I’ll tell you on the way to the others.”  
  
“What are we going to do at the Bennet house?”  
  
“Meet the others, Elijah and Bonnie—“  
  
“I am already here.”  
  
Elijah’s calm voice makes both of them jump in surprise and they turn to look at the main door. The Original is standing there, looking over at them with that annoying calm expression.  
  
“We shouldn’t waste what little time we have left.” He turns and walks out, leaving Stefan and Alaric to follow him.  
  
In less than a minute they are in the car. Stefan is driving and Alaric is grateful for that; his eyes are still a little blurry and his brain feels like it’s wrapped in cotton. He couldn’t have had more than an hour or two of almost sleep and that short rest has done nothing for the pressure behind his eyes that is slowly turning into a stress-migraine.  
  
They spend a long time of the drive in silence, until Alaric feels collected enough to ask about the plan they’ve come up with.  
  
And then spends the rest of the drive wishing he had just kept his mouth shut.  
  
It’s _hilarious_ , and that is putting it mildly.  
  
Apparently the sun and moon curse is fake and was originally placed on Klaus who’s not only an original vampire but also a werewolf, a hybrid as Elijah calls him. The hunter in Alaric is curious, wants to know how exactly this works, what it means, if Klaus is a super-hairy vampire or a werewolf who only drinks blood on full moons—but the rest of him only wants to know how to stop him—how to kill him, how to finally put an end to him.  
  
Klaus wants to break the curse so the dormant werewolf-part of him will be reactivated… and to do that, he has to perform the infamous ritual: He has to sacrifice a vampire and a werewolf and drain the doppelganger of her blood.  
  
He has to _kill_ Elena.  
  
It doesn’t get easier hearing it, especially since it’s part of the suicide mission that they are generously calling a ‘plan’. Elena is going to sacrifice herself so that Bonnie can step in and attack Klaus after the curse is lifted since that’s apparently the only moment he will be vulnerable. Then Elijah is going to finish the job.  
  
And as if all of this isn’t bad enough already, now that Elena has Damon’s blood in her system, she will wake up as a vampire.  
  
It’s like watching a horror movie, a really bad one.  
  
“Klaus has a werewolf and a vampire he is going to kill before he… before he drains her—who’s he gonna use for that?”  
  
Stefan flinches. “We don’t know yet,” he says. “Probably some innocents who are going to get dragged into this because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. If there’s such a thing as an innocent vampire… or werewolf.”  
  
Elijah speaks up from the backseat. He’s been so quiet Alaric has almost forgotten he was there at all. “My brother is a very vengeful man, he will chose his victims for a reason. They will have a meaning for him, someone he knows, someone who has caused a significant amount of trouble for him over the years.”  
  
“Katherine,” Alaric and Stefan say in unison.  
  
“It is possible.”  
  
What little he has heard and seen of Katherine hasn’t exactly made him a fan of her, especially not since she was responsible for Jenna stabbing herself— still this seems wrong.  
  
Alaric sighs and leans back against his seat, watching the dark road. Something about all this... is weird. He can't put his finger on it, but he feels as if they’ve forgotten something, something they should have remembered, something important.  
  
When they arrive at the Bennet house there’s already a car in front of it. Bonnie is going through the trunk, obviously looking for something. She looks up when they climb out of their car—  
  
And freezes. Stares at Alaric, eyes going wide, a look of panic flashing across her face. Bonnie raises her hands as if to ward off a blow and Alaric almost turns to look behind him, expecting to see someone sneaking up on him—  
  
“Alaric?” Bonnie’s voice sounds suspicious.  
  
He remembers then, remembers how the others told him that Klaus had killed her, that she had to fake her death while he—Klaus was attacking her, hurting her… He suddenly feels sick to his stomach.  
  
 _Fuck, she’s just a_ kid _..._  
  
“Bonnie, it’s me…” He takes a step back, doesn’t know what to do, just wants that expression to be gone from her face.  
  
Stefan steps between them. “Bonnie, it’s him, we checked, it’s Alaric, Klaus let him go.”  
  
Bonnie stares at him for a moment longer, then relaxes, smiles. “It’s good to have you back,” she says softly—but Alaric feels bad.  
  
“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what else to say.  
  
Bonnie’s smile widens, a little, turns sympathetic. A little. “I know it wasn’t you,” she says and turns to take a few books out of the trunk. “We’re downstairs, looking for something that might help Elena. There has to be something in the books.” With that, she turns and disappears into the house.  
  
Alaric watches her go, can’t believe this is happening at all. And there’s still so much he doesn’t know. He shakes his head, turns to look at Elijah. “Okay, how is this going to go down exactly?”  
  
“The sacrifice is completed in stages as the full moon sets. First the werewolf is killed, then the vampire. Finally, the doppelganger.” Elijah pauses, looks first at him, then at Stefan. “Once Elena dies, the curse will be broken. Klaus will become a hybrid.”  
  
Alaric takes a deep breath. “So when do we attack?”  
  
“Elena’s death will activate his dormant werewolf side. He’ll be vulnerable during the transformation.” He turns, looks at the house. “That’s when Bonnie comes in.”  
  
“And you’re sure Bonnie will survive this?”  
  
“If she can deliver him to the brink of death, I’ll finish the job myself.”  
  
This is not a plan, it’s a disaster. Alaric wants to protest, to make them see that they can’t let this happen, but before he can say anything, Stefan’s phone rings. He gets it out and answers, stepping away from them. “Damon.”  
  
Alaric can’t help but hold his breath when he hears the name. Stefan has his back to him, so he can’t see his reaction to whatever Damon is telling him, but his voice tells him enough.  
  
“Cut to the chase, Damon, is the sacrifice happening or not?”  
  
A pause, then Stefan shifts—and his back goes rigid. No good news then. Stefan obviously tries to keep his voice as calm as possible when he speaks again. “We’re sticking with the original plan then. We’re meeting Bonnie right now.”  
  
And then he gasps. “What?”  
  
Stefan turns suddenly, and looks at Alaric, eyes wide, shocked, and Alaric’s heart skips a beat. “What is it? What’s wrong?”  
  
“Oh my god...”  
  
“What, what is it?” Alaric barely gets the words past the lump in his throat. Whatever this is, it’s worse than bad, and the way Stefan is staring at him makes his blood run cold. “Stefan, what…”  
  
Stefan cuts the connection and shifts, swallowing heavily. Elijah, who has clearly been able to hear whatever Damon told Stefan, turns away and begins walking toward the house, while Stefan seems frozen, like he doesn’t know what to do.  
  
“Klaus has Jenna.”  
  
Stefan might as well have spoken Swahili because nothing he says makes any kind of sense.  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“He…” Stefan swallows hard. “He’s planning on using her as the vampire in the ritual.”  
  
It doesn’t make any sense, Jenna is human, she’s not a vampire, how could she—  
  
Oh god.  
  
The weapon bag drops from his suddenly nerveless hand and his knees grow weak.  
  
“No…”  
  
He stumbles back, turns around to—he doesn’t even know what to do. “No, no, we can’t—he—she—“  
  
It takes his breath away, the panic—the terror that Klaus will—that he has her and that he’s—  
  
Oh god, he can’t _think_ —  
  
“Alaric, calm down, we’re going to save her.”  
  
Stefan is close, his voice low, reasonable, determined—but Alaric barely hears him. His head is swimming, he feels like he’s been run over by a truck, all he’s capable of thinking—all there is in his head is ‘ _he can’t have her’_ , over and over and over again.  
  
He feels sick.  
  
He should have known. He should have stayed with her, he should have done… _something_ —been there, he should have—  
  
“Alaric, listen to me!” Suddenly Stefan is there, in front of him, shaking him. “Listen, we’re not going to let anything happen to her! We will save her, okay?”  
  
He nods slowly, feeling numb, wants to believe, wants— _needs_ his words to be true. This can’t be happening, after everything, everything he’s been through—this just can’t be happening…  
  
Stefan is talking again. “—Jeremy’s inside—I’ll… tell Elijah and Bonnie to meet me here, okay? I’ll talk to them. Jenna is going to be okay.”  
  
Alaric nods and turns, eyes the house. He doesn’t want to go in there, he needs to do something, to help get Jenna back—but they need a plan, first.  
  
Inside the house it’s dark. There are a few lit candles in what he assumes has once been some sort of living-room. Elijah is standing in the middle of it, staring at the fireplace, unmoving, looking more like a shadow than a man. Alaric stands in the hallway for a moment, unsure where to go, but then he hears voices, Jeremy and Bonnie, talking to each other. He follows them and ends up in a small hallway that’s completely dark and has stairs leading down at the end.  
  
He slows down, stops walking. Leans back against the wall, closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath.  
  
He has to calm down, he needs to be able to think, Jenna’s life depends on it. They are going to find a way to save her, he has to believe in that. They have an Original on their side, they have Bonnie’s magic… there _is_ a way to get her back and they are going to find it. All he has to do, right now, is calm down, he won’t be of use to anyone if he can’t calm the fuck down.  
  
Alaric starts walking again, goes down the stairs, slowly, thinking about what to say now, how to tell Jeremy about this.  
  
Jeremy and Bonnie are sitting on an old mattress, reading something in a book. They both look up when he enters the room and Jeremy frowns.  
  
“Alaric? What are you doing here?”  
  
“Elijah and Stefan are upstairs… Bonnie, do you mind if I have a second with Jeremy?”  
  
“Sure.” Bonnie, nods, gets up and leaves the room and Jeremy gets to his feet, narrowing his eyes.  
  
Alaric is pretty sure the kid can read his face just right, he has no illusion about the fact that he looks as bad as he feels. He avoids Jeremy’s worried gaze for a moment, looking at the floor as if he can find all the answers there.  
  
“It’s about Jenna...” he starts, doesn’t know how to go on.  
  
Jeremy tenses, looks alarmed. “What is it?” he asks, stepping closer.  
  
There is no easy way to tell this, so Alaric takes a deep breath and steels himself, meeting Jeremy’s gaze uneasily.  
  
"Something’s happened to Jenna… Klaus… he took Jenna, he’s going to use her as a vampire in the ritual.”  
  
Jeremy stares at him, dumbstruck, probably pretty much the same way Alaric had looked earlier when Stefan had told him about it.  
  
“But’ she’s no—“  
  
“And she won’t, Jeremy, she won’t be turned, we won’t let that happen, okay?” He realizes he’s trying to convince himself almost as much as Jeremy with this. “We are going to find a way to get her out of there.”  
  
Jeremy just stares at him and it suddenly strikes Alaric just how many people the kid has lost in his life so far. Jenna won’t be the next one, Jeremy won’t lose her, too, he won’t. Alaric is going to make sure of that, no more deaths in that family, no more.  
  
Jeremy is going for the staircase, but Alaric grabs his arm, pulls him back. “Wait.”  
  
The youth stills, turns around to look at him, barely concealed panic shining in his eyes. He’s shaking his head when he speaks. “We have to save her, we have to—I can’t lose Elena… and Bonnie and… and Jenna, it—I just, I can’t—“  
  
There are tears shimmering at the corners of his eyes and he looks so scared and vulnerable and impossibly _young_ that Alaric’s heart breaks for him. He thinks about pulling him in for a hug, just to give him a little comfort, but Jeremy is already moving again, stepping away from him.  
  
“I can’t lose them,” he whispers in a small voice.  
  
“And you won’t,” Alaric says, ignoring how empty that promise sounds to his own ears. Hell, he doesn’t even have the slightest idea what they are going to do now, but he needs to convince Jeremy to keep the faith, to not give up.  
  
It’s not working, he can see it, for a moment Jeremy looks like he’s going to flip out, to turn around and stomp up the stairs, leave him standing in the room, act like the teenager that he is. But then he relaxes, a little, takes a step back, away from the stairs. Takes a deep breath and runs a shaky hand over his face, gives a nervous smile. He shows a lot more self-control than Alaric had earlier.  
  
“Okay,” Jeremy breathes, “okay…”  
  
Alaric squeezes Jeremy’s shoulder reassuringly and nods at the stairs. “They’ll come up with a plan,” he says, motioning toward the upper rooms. “They’re good at that.”  
  
Jeremy nods and points at one of the open books on the floor. "We found something that might help with keeping Elena human." He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I gotta phone John, we need the journals…”  
  
Jeremy turns away from him and Alaric takes that as a hint to give him some privacy. He stands in the room for a moment, unsure what to do now, then heads up the stairs, slowing his steps when he hears agitated voices from outside.  
  
"… and we're going to offer another vampire," Stefan is saying, "someone he wants a lot more than Jenna." There is a pause, and Alaric stops dead in his tracks, straining to hear, doesn't dare move.  
  
"Me."  
  
Alaric doesn't realize he's walking toward the door, only when he's suddenly looking at Bonnie and Elijah, who are standing closer, becomes he aware that he's outside.  
  
"You can't do that," he starts, eyes on Stefan who is standing a few feet off. "Elena needs you."  
  
Stefan shakes his head. "Elena needs Jenna more, Alaric. You, too."  
  
Next to Alaric, Bonnie speaks up. "Stefan, we're going to find another way. You can't just hand yourself over and die, that's not an option."  
  
Stefan is wearing that face, the expression that says _‘I’m older than you, I know what I’m doing’_. "Bonnie, I've lived my life, longer than I should have, longer than you two, I can't— I _won't_ let any of you do this. It's bad enough that Elena is in danger, I can't let Jenna die, too, I won't."  
  
"But—"  
  
"I 'm doing this, Alaric, it's my choice not yours."  
  
Before either of them can protest again—not that Alaric would know what to say, how to hold him back— Stefan turns and walks into the house, leaving Bonnie and Alaric to look at each other.  
  
"Jeremy's calling John to bring the journals over for that spell... for Elena..." Alaric says after a moment, helpless. Bonnie nods and then she, too, goes inside.  
  
When Alaric steps into the house, Stefan is waiting for him.  
  
“I’m going to get her back, I won’t let anything happen to her,” he says calmly. Alaric feels himself nod slightly.  
  
Stefan studies him closely. "You have to look after her, when everything's over, no matter what… no matter what happens. You— and Jenna... make sure she's safe."  
  
Alaric nods numbly. Stefan is saying goodbye.  
  
"Okay,” he says softly. Wonders, for a moment, just how he is supposed to tell Damon about Stefan’s decision, almost opens his mouth to ask him, but he doesn’t. Nods again because he doesn’t know what else to do. Or say. Stefan grasps his arm, squeezes, gives him one of those earnest _I-know-what-I’m-doing-_ nods, then steps outside.  
  
And is gone.  
  
Alaric sinks down onto the stairs, exhausted. He leans his head back against the wall next to him, staring at nothing in particular. This is wrong, all this... all that's happening... all wrong. So many lives in danger—because of a ritual for one _vampire_...  
  
Unbidden, the image of Klaus appears before his eyes, the arrogant smirk, the way he holds himself, moving like he owns everything—everyone... Alaric tenses, can barely fight back a noise from deep in his throat, can barely suppress a shiver. Because of him, because of this _monster_ they are in danger, they are going to lose Stefan, because of him Jenna is in danger, Elena is going to die and come back as a vampire—as the same _thing_ that has ruined all their lives…  
  
The whole situation feels unreal, like it’s not happening, like he’s dreaming, some fucked up, _please-let-me-wake-up-right-now_ -nightmare. He knows it isn’t, he knows he won’t wake up and everything will be all right again, will make sense again.  
  
Alaric takes a deep breath and sighs, letting his gaze wander across the room, then outside the open window. This house is a weird place, old, cold, drafty, and yet, somehow, alive. Even if you didn’t know that it used to be a magical place where witches used to live, you would recognize it as a place that is special, like you can feel some form of residual magic in the air, like the house has an aura, a character. It’s old and creaky and falling apart, but it looks… quiet and peaceful in the moonlight.  
  
"There you are."  
  
The sudden voice scares him so badly he lets out a sound that might have been a squeak and whirls around.  
  
Damon is standing in the open door, frowning. "Why so jumpy?" he asks and Alaric can hear a car door fall shut outside. How did he miss a car?  
  
"Where have you been?" Alaric can’t help but snap at Damon, angry at him for some reason, couldn’t even say why.  
  
Damon raises an eyebrow and steps inside. Behind him, John Gilbert appears, carrying a box of books.  
  
"Where's Jeremy, I brought the books he asked for."  
  
Alaric points to the stairs leading downstairs. "Down there, with Bonnie, they’re waiting for you."  
  
John nods and disappears down the stairs.  
  
Damon cocks his head to the side, listens for a moment, then frowns. "Where's Stefan?"  
  
Alaric can’t suppress a wince. “He’s not here, Damon.”  
  
Damon’s frown deepens. “He told me to meet him here, where is he?”  
  
Damon is good at reading people, understands Alaric’s wince as easily as the pained grimace he can’t quite hold back. Damon takes a step closer.  
  
“Spill.”  
  
Alaric takes a deep breath, fighting the urge to back away. “Stefan went to see Klaus… and exchange himself for Jenna.”  
  
“He did _what_?”  
  
“He wasn’t gonna let Jenna die,” Alaric says, voice deliberately calm.  
  
Damon shakes his head, agitated, getting louder. “We have a witch—she kills Klaus—no one needs to _die_!”  
  
“Except for Bonnie,” Alaric says softly—and prepares for Damon to lose his cool.  
  
Damon doesn’t disappoint him, he stares at Alaric, then turns, punches the wall so hard his fist goes through. He’s shaking with anger, glaring at his hand like it is the source of all their trouble—and then he loses his balance, sways, looks sick and unsteady—  
  
“Hey, Damon, are you okay?” Alaric is about to step closer, hold him up, but Damon straightens immediately.  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
He’s obviously not fine, but before Alaric can say anything, Damon walks past him, growling under his breath. “That’s my brother for you, always cleaning up my messes…”  
  
Alaric watches him stalk out of the house, torn between going after him… and staying out of his hair. Damon doesn’t want company when he’s as pissed like this. It’s best to stay low and be quiet until he has calmed down and wants to talk.  
  
Yeah, right. Alaric actually chuckles sadly at his own thoughts. It’s not very likely that Damon will ever calm down enough to talk. Shaking his head slightly, Alaric turns to walk into the living-room, leaning against the wall next to the window. There’s nothing he can do, no one he can help. Everything is happening around him and he’s not really part of the team because he’s just a human, no vampire superpowers, no witch who can do spells. All he has are his weapons, a few vervain grenades and a little practice at staking vampires before they can eat him. And none of this is going to be of help against Klaus.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he lets his eyes fall closed, resting his head against the wall. His eyes are burning and he rubs them distractedly, wishing he could keep them close for a few minutes, just get a short rest, give his tired brain a chance to catch up with everything.  
  
Footsteps behind him pull him out of his thoughts and he turns to find Elijah standing in the doorway of the living-room.  
  
“Can we save her?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself.  
  
Elijah cocks his head to the side, regarding him calmly. “Ms Summer’s involvement in all this is most… unfortunate.”  
  
It’s not an answer to his question. Alaric barely refrains from rolling his eyes exasperatedly. _Unfortunate_. It might be an appropriate term for a being as old as Elijah, but to him it almost sounds like mockery. He shakes his head and is about to turn away from the vampire, when there is suddenly movement on the stairs.  
  
A moment later Bonnie and Damon appear.  
  
“We’re leaving,” Damon says quietly as he passes them.  
  
“I got the weapons in the car—“ Alaric starts as he follows them, but Elijah interrupts him.  
  
“Bonnie’s the only weapon we will need.”  
  
Damon and Bonnie leave the house, Alaric close behind—  
  
He walks into an invisible wall. It takes him a moment to realize he can’t cross the threshold, that he can’t move any further. _What the_ —  
  
“What is this?”  
  
Bonnie stops, turns to look at him, can barely meet his eyes. “I can’t put anyone else at risk,” she says softly, clutching her books to her chest as if they are holding her up.  
  
Alaric stares at her, incredulous, straining against the invisible force holding him back. “I can’t stay here with Jenna out there,” he protests, a sudden panic rolling through his insides like a searing wave.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
With that, she turns, starts walking away. Alaric is so shocked he’s speechless—for exactly one second—and then he explodes.  
  
“You can’t do this— _Bonnie_!” He yells after her, _willing_ her to turn back, to release him.  
  
Her steps never falter and his gaze snaps to Damon who’s standing, a few feet away, silent. Alaric’s heart constricts painfully, Damon is never silent, not like this—  
  
“Damon—“  
  
Damon shrugs, aims for nonchalant—but he doesn’t meet Alaric’s eyes. “Sorry, buddy, she’s right.”  
  
And he, too, leaves.  
  
"You can't do this!" Alaric shouts after them, but they never turn, never look back at him. He punches the wall in frustration— and steps back. Runs his hands over his face, through his hair. Tries to take a deep breath and fails.  
  
Oh God.  
  
 _Jenna._  
  
And he can't—  
  
Oh God.  
  
He stumbles back, has to lean against a wall to keep on his feet as panic sets in. He’s shaking, hard, his heart beating a mile a minute—  
  
“ _Fuck you!_ ”  
  
His boot crashes into the wall and hot, white pain rushes up his leg, but he doesn’t really feel it, doesn’t care. He’s numb, unable to think past the roaring in his head, the angry red haze that settles across his vision. How dare they? How can they do this to him, how can they simply shut him out like this? How could that witch—that fucking teenage _girl_ decide that he wouldn’t be allowed to help? That he would be locked away—left behind like a useless tool—  
  
“What happened?”  
  
John is standing at the top of the stairs, watching him with a concerned expression.  
  
John Gilbert is about the last human being Alaric wants to see right now. Or _ever_. He shrugs him off, turns without saying a word, stalks into the living-room, shaking with the need to _move_ , to burn off some of the adrenaline that is coursing through his system. He was tired and dizzy only a few moments before, but now he’s wide awake, senses sharper than ever, hearing-smelling-seeing-feeling everything at once—  
  
Restless.  
  
Pacing.  
  
Back and forth, in front of the crumbled fire-place.  
  
Shaking.  
  
Thoughts racing.  
  
Back.  
  
And forth.  
  
He can’t do this, he can’t be here, he will go insane if he can’t—  
  
But he can’t.  
  
He _can’t._  
  
Someone’s made that decision _for_ him, when they had no right to do it.  
  
Oh god, he can’t do this.  
  
He stops pacing in front of the window. The glass is broken, it would be so easy to just kick the rest of the broken frame in and leave this way—but he knows that he will meet resistance, that the spell doesn’t need intact windows to keep him back. He needs to do something, he’s so wound up— _enraged_ — this close to hitting something, snapping someone’s neck—  
  
Somewhere in the distance, just at the edge of his awareness, an animal starts howling, a long, haunting call that cuts through the silence of the night.  
  
Stops.  
  
Starts again.  
  
Alaric takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. Closes his eyes, concentrates on his breathing.  
  
In and out.  
  
In and—  
  
"Alaric?"  
  
Jeremy is standing in the doorway, one hand on the wood, leaning heavily against it. He looks as if he is about to keel over, pale, eyes wide, confused. Helpless.  
  
“Bonnie left me behind.” Jeremy takes a deep, shuddering breath, almost a sob. “I don’t know what to do.”  
  
He looks so young, like the scared kid that he is, a frightened boy who’s lost too many people in his short life.  
  
“They didn’t want me there, either…” Alaric trails off; there is nothing to say to this, nothing that will make this any less painful.  
  
“But Jenna…”  
  
Alaric wants to laugh, wants to point out how it apparently doesn’t count that Jenna is out there, in danger, that he shouldn’t be here, where he can’t help, can’t do anything… But all he manages is a tired shrug; there is no point in pointing out the obvious.  
  
“This sucks,” Jeremy mumbles softly.  
  
“It does,” Alaric agrees, wholeheartedly.  
  
They fall silent for a moment, then Jeremy points at the stairs behind him. “You wanna join us?”  
  
Actually, no, he doesn’t, he wants to go out, be anywhere but here.  
  
“I’ll be down in a minute.”  
  
Shoulders slumped, Jeremy heads down the stairs, looking as miserable and dejected as Alaric feels. Alaric stands in the middle of the room, arms hanging at his sides, staring off into space. Again. It’s becoming some sort of weird habit as it seems, but it’s too much effort to do anything else. Outside, the animal howls again, sounding just as sad and lonely as before. It fits Alaric’s mood perfectly, like the animal is mourning someone and all he can do is stand back and listen. Useless as ever.  
  
He’s so sick of this, of others deciding over his life. Isobel deciding that their marriage—that _they_ were over, that he didn’t have any say in it. Klaus deciding to kidnap him and use his body because who would stop him? Bonnie deciding he won’t be allowed to help save the woman he loves. It’s all about control—and how little he has of it.  
  
When this is over? When he has Jenna back and the ritual is done and everybody is safe—when everybody is _back_ , human or vampire, things are going to change, _he_ will change them.  
  
It becomes the longest night of his life.  
  
He stays upstairs for a while longer, standing at the window, looking out into the night. Thinking. About everything at nothing at all. He’s no longer tired, his body is tingling with adrenaline, his heart beating too fast inside his chest. It hurts, it makes breathing difficult. He feels light-headed, would love to sit down, to calm down, but he can’t.  
  
Jenna is out there, somewhere. And he isn’t.  
  
Sometimes he thinks he should worry about Elena. Or Damon. Stefan. Bonnie.  
  
He can’t.  
  
Jenna is out there—and he wants her back. God, he wants her back. He doesn’t care how, doesn’t care if she comes back a vampire, a werewolf or a cave troll, he just wants to hold her again.  
  
He starts wandering around the empty house aimlessly, stalking through the living-room, the other empty rooms, stopping here and there to listen into the silence. Hoping against hope to hear them. Alaric doesn’t really know how he finally ends up in the room downstairs.  
  
Jeremy and John never say a word. They look up, questions in their eyes.  
  
 _Do you know something? Are they back?_  
  
Alaric shakes his head, leans against the doorframe—and stares at nothing in particular. John goes back to writing something and Jeremy disappears behind one of the journals that are scattered across the floor.  
  
And they wait.  
  
*  
  
It’s Jeremy who finally breaks the long silence that has settled over them. He looks up from the book he’s holding, looking at John’s back. “Did you read all this?”  
  
Distracted, John nods, keeps writing. “I did.”  
  
Jeremy frowns, cocks his head to the side, gesturing with the book at John’s back. “So you understand what happened to the child's mother after the baby was brought back to life?“  
  
Alaric has no idea what baby or mother they are talking about, but he forces himself to pay attention; it sounds important. Dimly, he remembers they were talking about a plan earlier to save Elena from becoming a vampire, but he’s been so lost in his thoughts about Jenna it never occurred to him to ask about it.  
  
John finally looks up from his writings and he has a look on his face that makes Alaric’s skin crawl. There is definitely something going on here. “She saved her daughter. She found peace.“  
  
Alaric should have asked, he definitely should have asked. He shifts slightly against the wooden beam that is keeping him upright, studying both of them nervously.  
  
“John…” Jeremy doesn’t look happy, not at all. John doesn’t meet his eyes when he gets up and holds a folded paper out to Jeremy.  
  
“I need you to give this to Elena for me, and also this.” John takes off his eternity ring.  
  
Alaric knows a ‘good-bye’ when he sees it and he frowns, takes a step closer, looking from one to the other. “What’s going on here?”  
  
Instead of an answer, John locks his gaze with Alaric, looking serious. “Take care of each other. Please.”  
  
Before either of them can answer, there’s suddenly a noise upstairs, the front door is opened and falls closed.  
  
“I think they’re here!”  
  
Alaric is already jogging up the stairs before he finishes speaking.  
  
He walks right into a nightmare.  
  
Stefan is in the living-room, crouching in front of what’s left of an old couch, Elena lying in front of him, as still and lifeless— _pale_ —as a statue.  
  
Dead.  
  
Stefan’s back is to the door and he reaches up to brush a lock of hair out of Elena’s unmoving face, whispering something to her that is too low to make out. He’s tense, his hand shaking ever so slightly as he leans closer, pressing his lips against her temple. Alaric can’t get closer, he freezes in the doorframe, staring at Elena, unable to move, to think—  
  
Suddenly Elena goes rigid and starts coughing, snapping to life from one second to the next. She barely moves, dragging in one huge breath after the other as Stefan tries to hold her down.  
  
“How do you feel?”  
  
Elena stares at Stefan, eyes wide. “I feel fine,” she gasps and Stefan pulls her into his arms, buries his face in her neck, shaking almost as hard as she is.  
  
Next to Alaric Jeremy breathes out a sigh of relief and collapses against the doorframe, closing his eyes. Alaric turns to look at the door and finds Damon standing outside, head cocked to the side, obviously listening to what’s happening inside. He seems to be alone, Alaric can neither see Bonnie nor Elijah with him and it takes him a moment to realize—  
  
“Where’s Jenna?”  
  
He isn’t aware that he has spoken out loud, but Damon must have heard him, looks up at him. Shakes his head, slowly, an odd look— _regret_ —flashing across his features. _I’m sorry._  
  
No.  
  
It can't—  
  
It's not—  
  
No.  
  
For a long time, Elena’s panicked gasps for breath are the only sounds in the universe. Stefan is talking to her quietly, but, again, too low to understand. At one point Elena starts sobbing, softly at first, then louder, until she’s crying, muttering, choking out a word, a name.  
  
“ _Jenna_ …”  
  
Somehow the earth must have moved and Alaric is standing in front of Damon and Damon is pressed against the wall of the house and Alaric has his hands fisted in Damon’s leather jacket and is pushing him back, back against the wall, with all he has, and he is searching his friend’s face for an answer because he needs to know what happened and where is Jenna and what—  
  
“Where is Jenna?”  
  
Beneath his hands, Alaric slowly realizes, Damon is tense, hands flexing at his sides, clearly fighting down his instincts to _not_ fight back against being manhandled like this. He doesn’t care, when Damon doesn’t answer, when he just looks at him, eyes dark and unreadable, he shakes him roughly, pushes him into the wall again.  
  
“Where _is_ she?”  
  
“I’m sorry, Ric.”  
  
No. _Sorry_ is not enough, it’s not enough, not this time, Alaric needs to know—  
  
“What the fuck happened, where is Jenna?” He might be shouting at Damon, he might be shaking him, again, might be shaking himself, trembling with anger, this close to lashing out—  
  
“She’s dead, Klaus killed her.” Damon says it calmly, matter-of-factly. As if he is talking about the weather and not… and not _her_.  
  
Behind them, Jeremy makes a choked noise and turns away, disappears into the house.  
  
“Take me to her.” Voice soft, barely above a whisper.  
  
Damon tenses further, looks away. “Ric, she—,” he hesitates, jaw clenching. “It’s not pretty.”  
  
“Take me to her,” Alaric hears himself say again, louder now.  
  
“Ric—“  
  
“ _Now_ , Damon.”  
  
They walk in silence, Damon in front of him, sometimes disappearing behind the trees for a moment. It all looks the same to Alaric, what little he can see once they have left the lights of the house behind. It’s dark. It’s silent. It’s so cold. They don’t talk, not a word. He doesn’t ask what happened and Damon doesn’t offer any details.  
  
All too soon and not soon enough they arrive at a clearing. This is the place, Alaric can feel it, can sense the magic in the air. Damon walks up to a big stone at the foot of a small hill and looks back at him, indicates a spot close to him with a tilt of his head.  
  
It’s her.  
  
It’s Jenna.  
  
Even in the darkness he can see her blond hair, swaying softly in the wind.  
  
Her hair is the only thing that’s moving.  
  
He takes a deep breath—and starts walking. Stumbles over something on the ground, ignores it. Keeps walking, gets closer, eyes fixed on the lifeless body.  
  
Jenna is on her back, arms flung out to the sides, eyes open, unseeing, gazing up at the sky.  
  
There is a stake.  
  
In her chest.  
  
Jenna has been staked. Through the heart.  
  
Like a vampire.  
  
The world turns on its axis and he lurches to the side, starts gagging. A tree is holding him up, keeps him standing on his feet and he gags and spits and convulses until he realizes there is nothing in his stomach to bring up.  
  
Footsteps approach him, slowly, haltingly, a figure stops close to him. Alaric forces his stomach under control and straightens, takes a deep breath and turns, forces himself to look at her. Her face is grey, her mouth open in a silent scream, dark veins standing out against her pale— _dead_ skin.  
  
Alaric stumbles forward—and pulls the stake out. Ignores the slick sound when it slides out of her chest, ignores the smell of blood that assaults his senses immediately, ignores how her body shivers slightly with the movement and then stills again.  
  
Has to tell himself that she doesn’t—that she can’t feel it. Not anymore. Because she is dead.  
  
Jenna is dead.  
  
Alaric throws the stake away, as far away as he can. Takes a step back. What now? He can’t leave her here, where she died, it wouldn’t—it doesn’t feel right. He shrugs out of his jacket, covers her upper body with it, her face—and the wound. The horrible wound. Alaric wishes he had something else to cover her with, something bigger so that he could wrap all of her inside, maybe then she wouldn’t feel so cold…  
  
Damon shifts beside Alaric, but he ignores him. Takes a deep breath, pulls Jenna into his arms. She had been so warm—so alive… earlier. Smiling at him. Kissing him…  
  
She’s not warm anymore.  
  
Damon starts walking and he follows.  
  
They don’t talk. Not a word.  
  
Alaric is grateful for it, for the silence. Or… he would be. If he could feel…  
  
The Bennet house is quiet. There are still lights inside and movement, there are still people inside. Stefan and Elena, maybe, Jeremy. John.  
  
Alaric doesn’t look. He walks up to the car, waits for Damon to open the back door. Puts Jenna on the backseat, carefully arranging her unresisting body so that it can’t slip off—and stands in the open door, lost. No idea what to do.  
  
The driver’s door is opened and Damon slips inside. Waits. Stares ahead, unmoving. Doesn’t say a word when Alaric gets in as well, not bothering to buckle himself in. The car starts moving and Alaric watches the scenery fly by, his mind blank, empty.  
  
When they arrive at the boarding house, Damon disappears inside and reappears a moment later, a shadow at the passenger’s door. Waiting until Alaric gets out as well. Damon hands him a blanket. Alaric covers Jenna’s— _Jenna_ with it and pulls her into his arms again. He follows Damon inside, down the stairs into the cellar. Dimly, he remembers carrying Elijah down here after he had staked him—when Jenna had been upstairs ( _alive_ ), unaware of what was happening right in front of her eyes.  
  
But she’d been alive—  
  
Damon is gone when Alaric straightens, running his burning eyes across the still form on the floor. He feels like he should do something now. Maybe say something. To honor her memory. His breath hitches in his throat. His voice is so low, so raw it hurts to get the words out.  
  
“I’m so sorry.”  
  
The words ring hollow in the small room. It’s not enough, won’t ever be enough. He runs his hand over his eyes, clears his throat, opens his mouth to say more…  
  
But there is nothing, no more words to say.  
  
He stays with her until his body decides he needs a rest.  
  
The living-room is empty, Damon nowhere to be seen. But there's a glass of bourbon waiting next to the couch, Alaric’s favorite. Alaric sinks down next to it, picks it up, stares at it. Tries one, two, three times to bring it to his lips.  
  
Gives up and stares off into space.


End file.
